


The Deception Affair

by jj_minerva



Series: Compromised Series [3]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj_minerva/pseuds/jj_minerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mole in UNCLE spells trouble for Napoleon and Illya</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deception Affair

Part 1

Napoleon Solo was raised by women. His mother naturally, and after his father’s death, his grandmother and widowed aunt joined the household along with his four female cousins. He was surrounded by them as he grew up, the sole male child in a household full of women. Perhaps that was why he liked women so much. He knew them, understood them as much as any man could understand women and he liked them. He loved them when he could, but often it was enough to just like them, to appreciate them for who and what they were. Women responded well to that, he’d discovered. He learned to charm his girl cousins and practiced the art of flirting with them. He’d even practiced his kissing techniques with some of their friends. He felt comfortable with women. They were on your side and those who weren’t could be wooed, it was just a matter of the right actions and words. 

Men on the other hand were the competition. They were after the same things as you were; success, prestige, money and women. Even those you called friend were often your biggest competitors. The best policy was to treat them with respect; be wary, size them up and keep them at a distance. Napoleon could be charming towards men too, but he never let himself forget that at the end of the day they were his rivals. 

Illya Kuryakin was different. Napoleon had never had a friend like Illya before. A male friend, that was. And maybe that was the problem, he reasoned with himself. He was so used to fantasising about women of his acquaintance, whether lovers or friends, that he was unconsciously doing it with Illya too. Of course listening to his Russian friend enjoying intimate moments on their last two assignments certainly hadn’t helped. Napoleon was just thankful he hadn’t had to watch. 

But it had to stop. After all, he wasn’t like that, Napoleon told himself. He wasn’t like Illya who admitted that he liked men. No, not at all; Napoleon Solo liked women and that was the end of it. Besides, after what had happened to Illya during the last Affair, it seemed very wrong to use his friend in his fantasies. Not that those fantasies went very far, Napoleon’s imagination only ever went to a certain point and then stopped cold. Which surely proved he wasn’t like that. Didn’t it? 

“Napoleon, what are you waiting for? Make your move.” 

“What?” Napoleon jumped, coming back to earth with a thud. 

The disastrous end to their own assignment a few nights ago and the subsequent discovery that an even bigger UNCLE operation had ended with several agents dead and the CEA Jack Pallister seriously injured, had left a shadow on both Napoleon and Illya. But life went on, particularly at UNCLE. Napoleon had learned from Waverly a couple of days later that he was to be Acting CEA in Pallister’s absence. It seemed almost frivolous to celebrate but both he and Illya needed to unwind and relax and the temporary promotion offered Napoleon the perfect excuse.

It was also the perfect opportunity to arrange that double date with Illya. A couple of girls, a night on the town, and perhaps they could both put the past behind them. However, fate once again intervened. Napoleon had been kept so busy in his new role that he never did find time to invite any women along. So it turned out to be just himself and Illya enjoying a couple of drinks and a game of chess back at Illya’s apartment. It shouldn’t have been a problem at all. Should it?

“It’s your move,” Illya said again. “I don’t think you should drink vodka and play chess. It’s dulled your senses.”

Napoleon hadn’t really been following the game for some time now. The vodka had made him introspective but the slight tingle of arousal that he felt could be blamed on the pale blond head bent over the chess board and the deep blue eyes that smiled up at him after each move. He moved his queen. Illya took it with his bishop.

“Check and mate,” Illya declared with a grin. “You are so easy Napoleon.”

“Yes, well,” Napoleon cleared his throat. “I’ll admit I’m a little distracted tonight.”

“You’re a little drunk tonight,” Illya replied with a smile as he packed away the chess board. 

“The CEA’s job is no piece of cake,” Napoleon defended. “There is so much paperwork! Files are piled up all over the desk.” 

“I imagine there is a lot to be tidied up after That Night.” Illya refilled their glasses and settled back into his seat.

“Yes, that’s the other thing…” Napoleon took a sip of his vodka.

“Napoleon, you’re not still worrying about the last Affair are you?” Illya fixed Napoleon with a serious look. “I told you I am fine and don’t remember any of it.”

“Yes I know what you said. It’s not that, exactly. It’s…beforehand, in the car…you liked that didn’t you?”

A faint blush stained Illya’s cheeks but he didn’t look away. “Yes and your point is?”

“Well, I was wondering if that’s what you do when you pick up men, or, do you do, the other …thing? Do you like that too?” Napoleon knew it was the vodka giving him courage. He would never have dared to ask that if he had been sober. He drank a little more.

“Why do you want to know Napoleon?” Illya’s voice was low, cautious.

“I was just…curious. I wondered what it was like, that’s all.”

Illya tossed back the last of his vodka. “Go home Napoleon. You’re drunk.” 

They stared at each other across the table for several long moments until Napoleon dropped his gaze. Once again Illya was the victor. 

“You’re probably right. I’ve had too much vodka.” It was true because otherwise Napoleon wouldn’t even be thinking what it would be like to lean a little further over the table and kiss Illya, wondering if his mouth would taste of vodka and if his lips were as soft as they looked. No, it was the fault of the vodka that was all, because Napoleon liked women and that was that.

“I’ll call you a cab,” Illya said gently. 

“Thank you,” was all Napoleon could reply.

 

Part 2

By Monday morning Napoleon had put all thoughts of his close encounter with madness out of his mind and was once again plotting a double date with Illya. That’s what they needed to put things right between them. Women. He just wasn’t too sure which of them needed it most. 

He was reaching for the phone to ring an old girlfriend Ruby when it rang, summoning him to Waverly’s office. Somehow he wasn’t surprised when he met up with Illya in the hallway. 

“He called you too?” Napoleon asked. 

Illya nodded. “No rest for the wicked.” His face clouded and he turned to Napoleon as they walked. “I hope he doesn’t have another assignment for me. If he does, I’ll have to refuse. I can’t do that again, at least not for a while.”

“And I’ll support you in that Illya. Don’t worry.”

Illya smiled. “United we stand,”

“Divided we fall,” Napoleon responded on cue.

“All for one and one for all,” Illya tossed back with a smug grin.

“You’ve read Dumas?” 

“Of course I have. He’s very popular in Russia.”

Napoleon clicked his tongue. “You’d be surprised how many people here don’t like the classics?” 

Illya cocked an eyebrow. “What’s not to like about a group of young men, running around in knee high boots, lace and feathers?”

“Touché,” Napoleon chuckled, relieved they could still laugh about things like this. Obviously he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself the other night.

They arrived at Waverly’s office and Napoleon opened the door. “Lead on d’Artagnan,” he said ushering Illya inside.

“Have a seat, gentlemen.” Waverley waved them into chairs. “I want to congratulate you on the success of your mission the other night. The bugs are working well and we have already intercepted several interesting pieces of information that we are passing on to UNCLE’s Canadian office.” He turned his attention to Illya. “And how are you feeling now, Mr Kuryakin. It was a nasty business the other night.” He shook his head sadly, all grandfatherly concern, but Napoleon knew it was just a mask for the sharpened steel hiding beneath.

“I’m fine, sir.” Illya’s voice was hesitant and Napoleon stole at his friend. For once Illya looked uncertain. 

Napoleon cleared his voice, “Ah, Mr Waverly, have you read My Kuryakin’s medical report?” 

“Yes, I have Mr Solo,” Waverly responded quickly. “And before you start ruffling your feathers like a cock in a hen house, the mission I have planned for you both is a straight forward infiltrate and destroy affair. I chose Mr Kuryakin because he is quite proficient in explosives.”

Napoleon had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sir, I wasn’t suggesting that you would…,” 

Waverly cut him off. “Honestly Mr Solo, sometimes I wonder where your get these ideas. Do you really think I am such an ogre?”

Beside him, Napoleon saw Illya bite his lip in an effort to stop his laughter. 

“Why no, sir. No one would ever think that of you,” Napoleon declared. He turned to his friend beside him. “Would they Illya?”

Illya put on his best stoic mask. “Never, sir.” 

“Good, good. Now about the affair; as you know, the Silver Toes Affair of last week was unsuccessful. The intended target was a large cache of arms and forged Canadian banknotes that THRUSH had earmarked for Sebastian Burnside’s attempt to take over Canada. Thrush has now moved the majority of these to a secret hideaway, the location of which we have just discovered thanks to those very same bugs that you, Mr Kuryakin, planted.” He nodded his head in acknowledgment towards Illya.

“UNCLE’s last attempt at destroying the arms and banknotes involved quite a large team of agents. This time, we are going to try a smaller operation.” Waverly spun the table around, sending a thin folder towards Napoleon. “I’d like you both to handle this Affair, gentlemen. The less people who know about this, the less chance of leaks.”

“Do you think that’s what happened last time?” Napoleon asked as he flicked through the file. 

“It’s a possibility that can’t be ignored. You should be on your guard, gentlemen.”

Napoleon handed the file to Illya. “As always, sir.” 

They stood to leave, but Waverly hadn’t finished. “One more moment Mr Solo, a word in private it you don’t mind. Please excuse us Mr Kuryakin, it involves CEA business.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll meet you in your office, Napoleon.”

Napoleon grinned. Since assuming the position of Acting CEA he had been given temporary access to Jack Pallister’s office and no longer had to share with agents Preston, Robertson and Miller. 

Waverly waited until Illya had left before he resumed speaking. “You were correct before, Mr Solo, when you asked about a leak. We’ve suspected one for some time now. It’s one of the reasons that Mr Kuryakin was pulled off the team in charge of the explosives and sent with you to bug Burnside’s estate. Mr Pallister thought he was the most obvious suspect.”

Napoleon was shocked. “You can’t be serious, sir. Illya’s not involved.”

Waverly raised an eyebrow. “Do you have proof of that Mr Solo?”

Napoleon hesitated. “No, it’s just a feeling. I trust him. I’d know if he were working for THRUSH. Beside after what happened to him…,”

“Relax, Mr Solo. I don’t share Mr Pallister’s views although I did have some misgivings in the past. But consider this; as brutal as it may seem, THRUSH is not above treating their own agents that way if it means maintaining their cover. No, what we must look at is the fact Mr Kuryakin successfully planted those bugs and they have since provided us with valuable intelligence.” Waverly paused, waiting for Napoleon to respond. 

But Napoleon’s mind was whirling, seeing wheels within wheels within wheels. He trusted Illya with his life, but his position as CEA required that he explore every angle. “But if THRUSH is that underhanded and would use one of its own the way they used Illya, then they would also feed us wrong information knowing we were listening? If Illya is working for them then this whole thing may be another set-up.”

“Very good, Mr Solo, I was hoping you’d see that. What we have to do is stay one step ahead of them in the guessing game. Look at every possibility and its outcome.” He sat back, pulled out his pipe and stuck it in his mouth making no attempt to light it.

“But all things considered, at the end of the day you have to trust your gut. I stand by that Mr Solo; it’s one of the reasons I managed to stay alive this long. My gut tells me to trust Mr Kuryakin. That’s why I want the two of you on this mission. However, what I have just told you goes no further. I do not want Mr Kuryakin brought into the circle. This remains between you, me and Jack Pallister.”

“How is Mr Pallister, sir?”

“Recovering, but it will be a slow process. And he doesn’t like turning the reigns over to you in his absence.” Waverly’s smile looked like a hungry crocodile. “If I were you I’d stay out of his way when he returns to work.”

Part 3 

By Thursday Napoleon and Illya were on their way to the TRUSH hideaway just a few miles from the Canadian border. They had checked into a motel in a nearby town and commenced their final preparations. Illya had amassed a suitable array of explosives for the Affair. Napoleon was impressed. The plan was to wait until dark then make their way first by car and then on foot to the target. Slip in, lay the explosives, slip out and detonate. Hopefully the two of them could achieve what a team of six had failed to do. 

While Illya took care of the logistics, Napoleon concentrated on the possibility of them being followed. They had taken a circuitous route, changing cars several times to throw off any possible tag. If Illya had wondered about what they were doing, he had not voiced his questions, content to follow Napoleon’s lead. 

It was close to midnight when they finally peered through the undergrowth at the THRUSH compound that was alive with activity. They lay side by side in the shadows, identical twins dressed in black watching as guards patrolled the perimeter and spotlights pierced the darkness in random sweeps. 

“Either they don’t care that they are attracting attention, or someone has tipped them off.” Illya’s voice was a breath of white in the icy air. 

“Yes, the latter I think,” Napoleon replied as he rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm. He was wearing leather gloves, but the night was cold and Napoleon couldn’t risk letting his fingers become too chilled. He’d need every ounce of dexterity when setting the explosives. They eased back into the shadow of the trees. 

“What now?” Illya asked. His face like Napoleon’s was blackened and a beanie covered his blonde hair. 

“We head east into the forest. See if there is a back door we can use.” 

They set off, silent shadows in black, their backpacks laden with explosives. They had left the car on the road some distance away. It was useless now, but would hopefully supply an escape route once the Affair was concluded. 

They found what they were looking for about fifteen minutes later where a small stream came rushing down the hillside. The area was quiet and apparently deserted except for a large drain pipe that emerged out from the bank above the stream. 

Napoleon eyed the drainpipe speculatively. It was just big enough for a man to crawl through. He checked the wire grate covering the entrance. “Sewerage or stormwater? I think we can cut through this. Hopefully it will lead us back to the compound.” 

Illya was already at work pulling out a pair of wire cutters from his backpack. It was a tight fit but soon they were crawling through the dank and odorous drain. Napoleon held his torch in his teeth so that he could pull himself along in the darkness. Illya followed a safe distance behind. They crawled in silence, cold water seeping into their clothes, listening for any sounds that would tell them they were approaching the compound. 

Napoleon stopped suddenly and behind him Illya did likewise. “Can you hear that?” They listened. Voices and the faint hum of machinery drifted towards them. Napoleon switched off his flashlight. Up ahead a small grating showed a flash of a passing spotlight above. He crawled on until they were beneath the grating. Something large and black blocked the light from one side. 

Napoleon turned, an awkward manoeuvre in the close quarters. “It comes out beside one of the buildings,” Napoleon whispered in Illya’s ear. 

“Perfect for placing our explosives,” Illya whispered back, his breath warm in the Napoleon’s face. 

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Napoleon lifted the grate. “All clear,” he whispered and scrambled up. Illya climbed up beside him. 

They clung to the haven of shadow the wall offered and edged to the corner to get a better look at the compound. They were at the back of the largest building which, judging by the sounds coming from within, housed some sort of machinery. It was also the most likely place for the storage of the arms cache and forged money. Most of the THURSH minions were currently patrolling the front area, but Napoleon doubted they would be stupid enough to leave the rear unguarded. He looked backwards and spotted two dark figures, clearly identifiable by the red glow of their cigarettes, patrolling the fence line to the rear. Napoleon tugged Illya’s arm and pointed. Illya responded with a short nod. 

Squatting in the shadows, they set about arming the explosives. Napoleon was surprised how easily they fell into a pattern, moving as clockwork, no words necessary. He hadn’t experienced this with a partner before, but with Illya it came naturally. They spaced the devices along the wall from one corner to the other. The resulting explosion would create enough sparks to ignite anything flammable in the building, including the banknotes and in turn cause any stockpiled incendiaries to explode. The result should be total devastation.

They slide back into the drain, replacing the grate as they went. Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief as they switched on their torches and crawled back down the pipe. 

When they reached the opening, Napoleon turned to Illya, “Blow it now.” 

Illya compiled, pushing the switch on the small control he carried. The resulting explosion was spectacular, but neither Agent was expecting the force of the explosion to travel down the drainpipe and blow them out into the stream. Napoleon struck the water with enough force to take his breath away. He sank, disorientated, in the swirling water, until something grabbed his arm and hauled him upwards and to the bank. He lay there, cold and shivering as he struggled to regain his breath. His head hurt. 

“Napoleon, are you all right?” Worried blue eyes peered at him. Illya had lost his beanie and his pale hair was wet and bedraggled. 

“I think I hit my head.” Napoleon touched his forehead and found a sizeable lump. “Did you use enough explosives?” he asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice. They both turned to look behind them where the glow of flames lit up the night sky. Small explosions could still be heard. 

“I might have gone a little overboard, but I did want to impress you. I’d been waiting for a chance to show you how I blow something,” Illya grinned. “Up,” he added belatedly. 

Napoleon cleared his throat. “Ahmm, well I’m suitably impressed.” He shivered, the levity of the moment passing as he assessed their situation. It was cold and they were both soaked through. “We need to get back to the car before we both freeze. Come on.” 

Part 4

As luck would have it, THRUSH found their car first. 

“Damn,” Napoleon swore softly under his breath. He and Illya were huddled in the undergrowth, cold and wet, while five THRUSH agents searched their car. The one positive note was that they had left nothing inside. Even their motel keys were sitting in Napoleon’s pocket. A lot of good it would do them though, as the motel was miles away, too far to walk. They would have to find somewhere else to lay low for the night. 

“Come on,” Napoleon whispered. “This is a popular hunting spot. There are bound to be cabins around. I saw several tracks leading off the road as we drove here. Let’s see if we can find an empty one.”

They moved off onto the trees once again, trying to stay parallel to the road. THRUSH were out in force, their vehicles coming and going along the roadway like angry ants from a disturbed hive. Napoleon took it as an indication of the damage the explosion must have caused. The woods were heavy with the smell of burning and small explosions could still be heard. 

The cold was seeping into his bones, his feet were numb and his head was hurting by the time Napoleon sighted a small cabin. No light shone from the windows. A quick reconnoitre revealed it was deserted. The lock on the door was no obstacle and soon they were inside. 

“Should we risk a fire?” Illya asked, teeth chattering as he eyed the fire place hopefully. Napoleon checked the windows. They would have a clear view of anyone approaching and they were armed. They were also wet, cold and exhausted. A fire would at least remedy some of that. 

“Just a small one. You light it while I look for some dry clothes.” The cabin consisted of two rooms; a living room and a bedroom. A chest at the end of the bed held a selection of flannel shirts and worn cord trousers, their size indicating that whoever they belonged to must be built like a bear – one who didn’t like to wash. Napoleon selected two of the cleanest shirts and closed the lid. He passed on the pants. There was no way they’d keep them up and the legs were so long they’d only prove a hazard should they need to move quickly. As an afterthought he seized the large patchwork bedspread. It was dusty but thick and they could wrap themselves in it to keep warm.

Illya had the fire going and was looking through the cupboards when Napoleon returned to the living room. “Take off your clothes.” 

“Really Napoleon, I hope your technique with women is a bit more polished,” Illya said looking speculatively at the clothing. He picked up one of the shirts. “Doesn’t he wear trousers too?” 

“Too big. We’d both fit in one pair. We can get under the quilt. Keep warm that way. Get changed while I check in with HQ.”

He wasn’t going to watch, Napoleon told himself as he positioned himself in front of the windows keeping an eye outside. But the firelight was reflected in the glass along with the sleek golden shape of Illya Kuryakin stripping off his sweater. 

“Open Channel D,” Napoleon breathed, trying to keep his mind on the Affair. 

“Hello Napoleon,” the voice on the other end purred while Illya dropped his black trousers revealing a pair of strong pale legs and … Napoleon blinked, swallowed and wondered when he had become such a voyeur. He looked away. 

“Is Waverly there…,” he struggled to remember the girl’s name and couldn’t. “…darling?”

“One moment, Napoleon.” One moment…he glanced back at the reflection just in time to see Illya bend over to pick up the shirt. Napoleon ran a hand over his face, suddenly hot despite his cold wet clothes and numb feet. 

“Yes, Mr Solo? How are things going?”

“The mission has been completed. It appears THURSH were expecting us and we’ve been cut off from our car. We’ve found a secure hiding place and will wait until morning before trying to make it back to town.”

“Good, Mr Solo. Radio in again at daybreak. I can have backup sent if you need it.”

Napoleon glanced back at Illya’s reflection. “I think we’ll be right, sir. Solo out.”

“Your turn, Napoleon.” Illya was dressed in the overly long flannel shirt, the cuffs rolled back, the neck unbuttoned, the fire’s glow highlighting a golden fuzz of hair on his naked legs. He had dragged a thread bare sofa in front of the fire and was draping the quilt over it. “One of us should keep watch,” he said then stared at Napoleon. “Are you going to stay wet all night? How’s your head?”

Napoleon shook himself, realising he had been standing there staring at his friend. “Uh, sorry, just tired, I guess. Head’s fine. I don’t think it’s a concussion.” 

“Maybe I should take the first watch.” Illya wandered to the front windows. “We should hear anything that comes up the drive. As long as one of us stays awake we can still get warm by the fire.”

Napoleon made short work of his clothes while Illya’s back was turned. The flannel shirt smelt of someone’s stale sweat, but it was warm and dry and surprisingly soft. He carefully spread his clothes on the backs of two chairs to dry and then gathered up Illya’s which were sitting in an untidy puddle. 

“You do realise we have to put these back on, don’t you?” he scolded. Illya wandered back and watched Napoleon shake them out. 

“Yes, Mama.” Illya climbed in under the quilt and settled back. Napoleon joined him.

“What are you doing Napoleon?” Illya asked as Napoleon moved closer so that their bodies were touching shoulder to hip. 

“Sharing body warmth. Surely you’ve heard of it…to stop hyperthermia.”

“It’s cold Napoleon, but not that cold. We’re not in any danger of freezing. Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?” 

Napoleon moved away. “I don’t think so, but I do feel cold.”

“You don’t know what cold is!” Illya muttered. “Go to sleep. I’ll take the first watch and that way I can keep an eye on you and see you don’t fall into a coma! I can poke you awake from time to time.”

“Oh, that’s so reassuring. You’d have made a wonderful doctor.” 

Napoleon swung his legs up and rested his head on the arm of the sofa. It was far from comfortable, but at least he was warmer now. Napoleon soon found himself drifting into sleep. A sharp blow to his leg woke him again and he bolted upright, reaching for his gun. “What’s wrong?

“Do you mind Napoleon?” 

“What?” he asked, staring at Illya. 

“Your foot!” 

Napoleon blinked and realised one of his feet was resting on Illya’s thigh. 

“You were running your foot up and down my leg!”

“Sorry, it’s a habit I have when I’m in bed with a woman.” 

“Well we’re not in bed and I’m not a woman.” Illya declared, no at all impressed.

“No I can tell,” Napoleon wiggled his foot a bit. “You’re legs are too hairy.” Illya pushed his foot away. 

“I’ll sit over here. That will give you more room. I’m warm enough now.” Illya went to sit in a large chair on the other side of the fireplace and Napoleon closed his eyes again. Maybe he did have a slight concussion. He certainly wasn’t thinking clearly. He only meant to doze, but was woken some time later from a deep sleep by a hard shake.

“Wake up Napoleon.” Illya bent over him, backlit by the fire. His hair had dried in a golden halo and Napoleon was reminded of an angel, albeit one wearing plaid. “It’s your turn to watch!” Illya scowled and the image shattered.

“No trouble?” Napoleon asked as he yielded the makeshift bed to Illya. A shake of the head was Illya’s only reply. 

Napoleon tried to get comfortable in the chair by the fire. At least it was warm but he would much rather be back under the quilt with Illya. Taking a deep breath, Napoleon made a conscious effort to think of something else. He checked his watch, 4.00am, a few more hours until daylight. With any luck they should be back in New York with enough time to arrange a date; a double date, Napoleon corrected, because this mooning over Illya had to end. If he could just find a nice young lady to interest Illya, well maybe not so nice, maybe a little naughty, and then Illya wouldn’t look so ….lost and he, Napoleon, wouldn’t feel the need to keep him company all the time. Yes, that’s what was needed, that would solve all his problems…

A car approaching up the driveway brought Napoleon to immediate attention. Grabbing his gun, he made his way to the window, making sure to stay out of sight. 

“Company?” Illya asked sitting up. His hair was tousled and the shirt was hanging lopsided off one shoulder.

Napoleon nodded and gestured for Illya to stay seated. He waited, gun at the ready as two figures immerged from the car. “It’s Ted Robinson, I’d know the build anywhere….and Bob Miller.” Napoleon turned to Illya. “Stay there.” Illya raised one eyebrow but did as Napoleon asked.

“Gentlemen,” Napoleon opened the door but stayed back out of sight. “To what do we owe this honour?”

“Waverly sent us,” Robinson replied, his deep voice holding a hint of teasing. “What are you doing Napoleon? Hiding?” The big agent wandered through the door, Miller following. Their guns weren’t drawn and Napoleon relaxed, stepping forward. 

“Something like that, Ted.” 

Robinson’s eyes travelled around the room, stopping on Illya, huddled under the quilt, and finally coming to rest on Napoleon, running up and down, the ill fitting shirt and bare legs. His mouth dropped opened, he looked back at Illya, who was looking decidedly rumpled, then back at Napoleon. “What’s going on here Napoleon? I’d heard a rumour about him, but YOU…I’d never have believed it.”

Napoleon blinked, sudden understanding crashing to the fore. “No, Ted you have it all wrong. It’s not like it looks. We got wet, we were cold…we…”

Bob Miller interrupted. “Save the speeches Napoleon, we all know you’d screw anything that walks upright. It was just a matter of time before you got caught in a trap.” Miller nodded towards Illya. “He’s the leak, you know.”

“Illya? No, you’re wrong, Bob,” Napoleon replied. But Miller was drawing his gun along with Robinson. 

They stood at a stalemate. Napoleon wondered what Illya was doing but couldn’t take his eyes of the other agents to look. He obviously hadn’t drawn his gun as neither man had theirs pointed in that direction. Did Illya even have his gun at hand? Napoleon cursed. Perhaps he didn’t know his partner as well as he thought.

“Listen fellas, I’m sure we can sort this out. We’ll radio Waverly,” Napoleon said, hoping the calm approach would stop the situation escalating. 

“Give Ted your gun first Napoleon, then we can talk,” Miller replied. “Waverly sent us to bring Kuryakin in, that’s all. He’s got no issue with you. He knows you were seduced.” 

Napoleon finally spared a split second glance at Illya only to find him sitting silently under the quilt. There eyes met for one moment before Napoleon turned back. 

“All right.” He handed his gun to Robinson, who took it, put the safety back on and slipped it into his pocket. 

“And what about his?” Miller gestured towards Illya. “Where’s your gun, Red?”

Illya gestured towards his empty holster which Napoleon had hung over a chair while he was tidying their clothes. “I lost it in the river.” 

“We caught the backfire of the explosion,” Napoleon added, drawing the attention back to himself. “Ended up in the river. See, I hit my head.” He pointed to the painful lump on his forehead. 

Robinson winced in sympathy but didn’t lower his gun. 

“How did you find us Ted?” Napoleon asked the big agent. 

“Waverly told us. Said you’d be here. Sent us to bring you both in.”

“Waverly told you?” Napoleon queried. “Waverly doesn’t know where we are.” 

A worried look settled on Robinson’s face. He turned to Miller. “But you said…” Millers shot him in the chest before he could finish the sentence. 

“Don’t move either one of you,” Miller took a step backwards to better cover the room.

Napoleon stood frozen, unable to believe that Ted Robinson lay dead at his feet, sightless eyes staring heavenward. “It’s you. You’re the mole,” he said. He spared a quick glance toward Illya. His partner still hadn’t moved and was sitting sphinx-like watching, waiting. 

“Very astute Napoleon,” Miller answered. “And you played right into my hands with your little …love nest.” He waved his gun around indicating Illya and the makeshift bed. “Poor Ted couldn’t believe that Kuryakin could pull the wool over your eyes. He wasn’t completely convinced until he saw all this. I must say, you have surprised me. I always thought you were such a ladies’ man.”

Napoleon ignored Miller’s accusations. There was no point arguing with madness. “What are you going to do Miller?”

“I’m going to kill you, Napoleon, just like I did Ted. But not before you help me handcuff you friend there and get him in the car. I don’t want his body to be found. That way I can tell Waverly that Kuryakin killed both you and Ted, and then disappeared. I’ll find your bodies when I am looking for my partner.”

“So Waverly did send you here,” Napoleon wanted all the facts.

“Not here exactly, but he sent us to Jumping Falls and told us to wait in case you needed backup. We’ve been here since yesterday.” 

Suddenly Waverly’s plan became clear to Napoleon. He’d suspected Miller all along and had manoeuvred him into place so that he would break cover in order to do away with Illya, the agent that would be considered the most likely leak, thus protecting his own cover. 

The old bastard, Napoleon thought to himself. Of course Waverly would have them all set up on his chess board. Now if he could just find a way out of this. Best to keep Miller talking; megalomaniacs did love to ramble on about the plans and machinations. 

“But why Miller? Why sell out to Thrush? You have a good job with UNCLE.”

“UNCLE? Puhh, the pay is lousy and we are lucky if we live to see forty.” 

“So you did it for the money?” 

“Yes, for the money. Now stop talking and handcuff Kuryakin.” Miller took out a set of handcuffs from his pocket and tossed them at Napoleon.

Napoleon picked them up and walked over to the couch where Illya waited. He perched on the arm rest, cuffs dangling from his hands.

“Haven’t you got anything to say to Miller, Illya?” Napoleon asked. “He’s made some nasty accusations about us.”

Illya looked at him, the hint of a grin danced momentarily in his blue eyes, before he looked back to their captor. “Just this Napoleon.” 

The soft thwack of a bullet was Illya’s reply. It took Miller between the eyes. 

Napoleon watched as Illya brought his hands out from under the quilt, his trusty uncle special, minus attachments, enclosed in his grip.

“Thank god!” Napoleon breathed, “I was hoping that was your pistol you were holding under there.”

“I was waiting for Miller to tell me to raise my hands.” Illya stood up and walked to where the two agents lay dead. 

“I am sorry about Robinson, Napoleon. Miller shot him before I had a chance. When I realised Miller was a mole, I thought it best to hold off and wait to see what he would tell us. I wouldn’t have let him shoot you.”

“I know, Illya. And you did well. Poor Ted, he never saw it coming.”

“Did you know this was a possibility, Napoleon?”

“I knew there was a leak, but didn’t think we’d have this to deal with. We can thank Waverly for this.”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

“Come on, our clothes must be dry. Get dressed while I radio in.”

Part 5

Of course Waverly was pleased with the outcome and praised both Agents for their success. The Affair was wrapped up, reports written and Robinson given a solemn funeral service. Life at UNCLE went on and Napoleon wondered when he had become so immune to death. 

But by the following weekend Napoleon’s mind had turned to other matters. Finally, after much plotting and planning and even a little arm twisting, he had managed to arrange a double date with Illya and two delightful air hostesses, Brandy and Coco. 

“So how long have you lived here,” Coco asked batting her eyes and sliding a little closer to Illya. 

They were seated in Napoleon’s favourite restraint, in an intimate alcove with semi circle bench seating. The girls were sandwiched nicely between them which meant Napoleon could watch Illya easily across their table. At the moment he was squirming, trying to put a little distance between himself and the overly eager Coco. 

“I came here with my parents when I was about four.” Illya gave their prearranged answer as he found himself balancing on the edge of the seat.

“And what do you do? Napoleon says you work with him?” Brandy picked up the questioning, clearly fascinated with their exotic dinner partner. Napoleon felt a stab of jealousy but pushed it aside. “He’s a translator….translates Russian and several other languages.”

Both girls raised eyebrows, clearly impressed. Illya turned red. Throughout dinner Napoleon and the two women kept up a steady conversation with Illya only speaking when asked a direct question. Champagne flowed freely and both girls were soon giggling, inhibitions clearly lost with the bubbles. Even Napoleon felt a little light headed in the fresh air after leaving the restaurant. “Would you like to drive Illya?” He held up the keys, watching Illya’s blue eyes light up. It was the happiest Illya had looked all evening.

They ended up back at Napoleon’s apartment amid squeals and laughter, Illya’s driving proving to be much like a rollercoaster ride. Napoleon set the scene with lighting turned low and yet another bottle of champagne filling their glasses. Coat and tie discarded, Napoleon sat back and relaxed with Brandy snuggled close beside him, nibbling at his ear. Opposite them, Illya and Coco were seated on another sofa but there similarities ended. Illya was perched on the edge of his seat clearly uncomfortable while Coco did her utmost to catch his interest, sliding one hand slowly up his thigh until Illya caught and held it tightly. 

“Do you mind?” Illya’s words were like ice. 

Coco pouted. “What’s wrong Illya, don’t you want to have some fun.” 

“This isn’t my idea of fun, Randy.”

“Randy? I’m Coco!”

“Oh, sorry.” Illya looked over at Napoleon’s date. “So you’re Randy then?”

“Brandy! I’m Brandy!” She replied angrily. 

Illya blinked his blue eyes, the picture of innocence. “I’m sorry. I was sure Napoleon said one of you was Randy.” 

Napoleon burst out laughing. He’d said exactly that, but not in regard to their names and he doubted Illya had really misunderstood. 

“Are you making fun of us?” Coco stood up, champagne splashing everywhere as she set her glass down heavily on the coffee table. 

“Really Napoleon.” Brandy slid out of Napoleon’s embrace. “We didn’t come out with you to be laughed at.” She glared at Illya. “You need to teach your Russian friend some manners.” She grabbed her coat from a nearby chair. “Don’t bother to see us home. We’ll catch a cab.”

Napoleon watched them go, too stunned for a moment to say anything. 

The door slammed shut and Napoleon let out a long sigh. “Well, I guess that’s the end of our night. Thanks Illya.”

“I’m sorry to spoil your evening Napoleon. I’ll leave now and perhaps you can go after the girls.”

Napoleon shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Illya. Why wouldn’t you want to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman with no strings attached?”

“By ‘company’ I assume you mean a meaningless sexual liaison?” Illya gave a joyless laugh. “I’ve had enough of those sorts of encounters, thank you Napoleon.” 

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Napoleon replied angrily. “You might actually enjoy it.”

“Oh really? You think I would enjoy some stranger groping me and…”

“Illya, it’s not the same. You let our work effect you too much. Can’t you see what it has done to you? You live like a monk, isolating yourself from everyone.”

“Oh? And what we do has had no effect on you, I suppose?” Illya threw back. 

“No,” Napoleon declared defiantly. “No it hasn’t.”

“You’ve gone the other way.” Illya’s voice was lower now, no anger showing, just tiredness. He came to stand directly in front of Napoleon. “You chase everything in a skirt, Napoleon, bed every woman you can, but you don’t feel anything.”

“I feel! I feel a lot of things.” Napoleon said as he looked into the ice blue eyes. 

“Below the belt perhaps, but not here.” Illya laid a hand over Napoleon’s heart. “You have forgotten how to love” he said softly. “No matter what you say Napoleon, we have both been crippled. Our work for UNCLE has…compromised us. We are not the men we should have been. Uncle has made whores of both of us. In every sense of the word.”

“You’re wrong Illya,” Napoleon whispered. “I haven’t forgotten how to love” And with those words he took Illya in his arms and kissed him. It surprised them both and they broke apart, breathing heavily staring at one another in silence.

It was Illya who broke the silence. “Is this what you want Napoleon?” He reached down, fingers seeking out Napoleon’s erection that had come to life. “Something to make up for the girls leaving?”

Napoleon grabbed his hand. “No, you know that’s not what this is all about. You mean too much to me for this to be just a casual thing.” 

Napoleon watched as understanding slowly blossomed in Illya’s eyes. “Napoleon, I’m sorry. I never thought…”

“Shhh, I know, I know.” Napoleon leaned in again and kissed his friend softly. Illya responded wholeheartedly and soon they found themselves entwined on the couch. 

And it wasn’t strange or awkward to be kissing his friend, Napoleon decided. It wasn’t that different from doing this with a woman. And what Napoleon lacked in experience he more than made up for in enthusiasm. In the end he was happy to let Illya take charge, surprised to find that there was much pleasure to be had in surrender. It was all he had imagined as he listened to Illya’s sounds of pleasure but no fantasy could compare to the look in Illya’s eyes as he came. 

Much later when they lay side by side in Napoleon’s bed Illya whispered, “What happens tomorrow, Napoleon?”

“Tomorrow?” Napoleon really didn’t want to think about tomorrow just yet, happy to enjoy the warmth of his partner by his side. But he knew what Illya was asking.

“We go one like we always do and we find time to be together like this whenever we can.”

Illya rolled onto his side, “It’s risky Napoleon.” His breath was warm against Napoleon’s skin. “Waverley will hang us out to dry if he finds out.”

Napoleon turned to face his friend and smiled. 

“Some things are worth the risk, Illya. Some things are worth the risk.”


End file.
